Believe
by Younger Dr. Grey
Summary: Post-Prom Night, Santana reflects on not kissing Brittany before she gets interrupted by a certain closeted "friend"


**Title:** Believe (1/1)  
><strong>Author<strong>: _youngerdrgrey_  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Santana/Brittany  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Post-Prom Night, Santana reflects on not kissing Brittany before she gets interrupted by a certain closeted "friend"  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>WarningsSpoilers:** None  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own nothing. All rights for the characters and the world go to their owners (like Ryan Murphy and FOX). I, in no way, believe – or would lead others to believe – that I own _Glee_. I am merely a fan of the television show who has ideas for things that RIB could do/could've done.

**Author's Note:** Please review if you read.

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><p><strong>(11) BELIEVE  
><strong>

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><p>She could practically hear the people chanting in the background.<p>

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

Yet, she couldn't do it. She couldn't _fucking_ do it. Because everything she did was to feel like she belonged, like being a lesbian didn't matter and the whole world wouldn't reject her. Then, Kurt wins. This isn't fucking Carrie. She should have won. She should have won and danced with Dave like she did all night, then turn around and join Brittany for the final dance. Balloons should have dropped on their linked hands. No one would think anything of it. But they'd know. They should've gotten together. She should have kissed her damnit!

But she didn't.

Instead, she went back in there and was there for Kurt. She watched Brittany take a picture with Artie. Balloons fell on Brittany and Artie. Fuck this. Fuck it all. Prom was for pretty girls with nothing else to live for. Obviously it just couldn't be perfect for anyone else, right? Not for her?

"Santana!"

She turned, praying for one second it would be Brittany. Instead, she found Dave. He rattled off some apology about her not winning and some shit about him hiding away instead of dancing with Kurt. For the first time, he admitted to her that he loved (loves) the new prom queen. She told him to join the club of closeted gay kids who will never get the one they want. He asked her if it's worth it. She paused.

"Her hat matched my dress," Santana said, "I like to think she did it on purpose. And, she was there. We were alone for a few minutes and it was kind of sappy and cute. But, no, it isn't worth it. It's not fucking worth how this feels inside. I'm over this high school unrequited love. Whoever said it was better to have loved deserves to be in my shoes, okay? I'm through with this shit. I am so through with it!"

"Then do something," he told her, "Make a difference."

"Wow, isn't that the pot calling the kettle 'next big joke.' Tonight did one thing, and it wasn't make me glad to come back for reunion," she said.

He called out her name again, but she didn't turn around. She went on walking until her heels hurt too bad. She threw them aside and kept on trucking. Eventually, she made it home. She pushed through the door and the stairs until she got inside of her own room. She slammed the door, flipped the switch, and only had the time to say one thing before a set of lips met her own:

"Brittany, what are you-"

When the blonde eventually pulled back from the stunned Latina, she said, "I'm not stupid, but it would be stupid to have the entire prom night go by and not give you a kiss. Artie apologized, but I don't want to be with him. I want to be with you, Santana. Even if we have to hide for a while, but not for too long, please, I get claustrophobic."

Santana nodded without a second thought. She would figure it out. She had to. She would make these kids control themselves. And, if she couldn't, she'd just skip Senior Prom and save the drama. Spend the night with Brittany indoors, or on the hood of a car on some hill. Can you say win-win?

"So are we…" Santana searched for the word.

"We're believing, in us, in the future. Is that okay?"

Again, Santana nodded. She could do that. She could definitely do that.

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><p>Thoughts?<p> 


End file.
